Written in the Stars

by Isobel Bird

  For two days Annie had been unable to think of anything else except her older sister. She didn’t tell her friends about it because it was too new, too private, and she wasn’t sure what there was to even tell them yet. Nor did she say a word to Meg. Her sister was too young to understand. Annie herself didn’t even really understand. Besides, her aunt had asked her not to say anything, and Annie had agreed.

  But she hadn’t agreed to not ask any more questions herself. So that afternoon, after school, she’d asked Aunt Sarah if she could tell her anything else about the baby her mother had given up. Her aunt had looked thoughtful for a moment and then nodded. That was how they’d ended up in the cellar.

  Now, in the light-filled kitchen, with cups of peppermint tea in front of them and a plate of brownies nearby ready to be eaten, Annie was hearing more about her mother’s life in college.

  “No one has seen these pictures besides your parents and I,” Aunt Sarah said. “Your mother wanted to have a record of her pregnancy, although she wasn’t sure why, so she had me take lots of pictures of her.”

  Annie nodded. She was staring at a snapshot of her mother sitting on a blanket on some grass. She was smiling and pointing to her belly.

  “That was the quad at our college,” Aunt Sarah said. “About a month after your mother found out she was pregnant.”

  “How could she be so happy?” asked Annie. “Wasn’t she afraid?”

  “She was terrified,” her aunt said. “But yes, she was happy. It’s hard to explain. It’s like she knew the baby was going to have a great life, and that she was the one giving her that life. Once she made the decision to have the baby, it was like she was filled with this strength I’d never seen in her before.”

  They turned the pages. As they progressed, Annie saw her mother getting bigger and bigger as the baby grew. She also watched the seasons change from late summer to fall to winter. As the weather turned cold, her mother appeared in jackets and scarves. There were pictures of her building a snowman and jumping in a pile of autumn leaves. Annie’s father appeared in some of the pictures, always with his arms around her mother and always smiling.

  “It must have been hard for them,” said Annie. “Knowing that they were going to have to give the baby away, I mean.”

  Aunt Sarah nodded. “It was hard in a lot of ways,” she said. “People at school gave your mother a hard time because she wasn’t married and because they never saw her with your dad. And she had to hide her pregnancy from her parents. That was the toughest part.”

  As they got toward the back of the album, and the end of her mother’s pregnancy, the pictures showed a world changing from the frozen whiteness of winter to the newness of spring. Now Annie’s mother really looked pregnant, and there were pictures of her sitting at her desk, studying, while she rested her hands on her distended stomach. There was another, which Annie particularly liked, of her mother standing in a field of daffodils beneath a bright spring sun. Her face glowed, and she reminded Annie of an image she’d seen of the Goddess awakening the earth after its long sleep.

  “That was right before she gave birth,” said Aunt Sarah, touching the picture gently with her finger.

  “Were you there for that?” Annie asked.

  Her aunt nodded. “So was your father. I remember he had to drive all night to get there in time. She went into labor right after an English Lit exam. I took her to the hospital and called him from there.” She laughed. “I’ll never forget your mother telling the baby that it had to wait until Peter got there before she would let it come out.”

  Annie laughed, too. “And it did?”

  “Barely,” Aunt Sarah said. “Your father got there at dawn and the baby arrived about half an hour later.”

  Annie turned the last page, and there she saw an image that made her heart stop. It was her mother, sitting in a hospital bed. She was holding a baby in her arms, and she was looking at it. Annie’s father stood beside them, also looking at the baby, and both her mother and her father had expressions of joy on their faces.

  “I wasn’t supposed to take that one,” Aunt Sarah said. “The caseworker handling the adoption didn’t even want your parents to hold the baby. But they insisted, and while no one was looking I snapped that.”

  Annie stared at the picture for a long time. First she concentrated on her parents’ faces. Then she looked at the baby. It was so small, and it was hard to see anything. But Annie could see its tiny hands waving in the air, and its eyes were open, looking up at her mother and father.

  “She saw them,” she said softly. “She saw their faces. I bet she doesn’t even remember that.”

  She felt a sharp stab of pain inside of her, looking at the baby in her mother’s arms. What must it have been like for her mother, holding her and knowing that she only had a few minutes with her? What had her father thought, looking at his daughter and knowing that someone else was going to take her home? Annie couldn’t even imagine. Did they think about changing their minds? Did they wish they’d never had the baby?

  “What happened next?” she asked, not really wanting to know the answer but knowing that she had to ask.

  “The caseworker came and took the baby,” said her aunt slowly. “They didn’t want your parents to meet the adoptive parents, so they had them in another room. They thought it would be easier that way.”

  “So they never saw them?” Annie said.

  Her aunt shook her head. “No,” she answered. “They didn’t. But I did.”

  Annie looked at her. “I couldn’t help it,” Aunt Sarah said. “Besides, I’d already taken a picture. I figured I couldn’t get into much more trouble. So when she left with the baby I pretended I needed to go to the bathroom and I followed her.”

  “What were they like?” asked Annie.

  “They were a young couple,” her aunt replied. “About the same age your parents were when they had you. She had long black hair. I remember that because it was so pretty. He was tall and thin. I saw the caseworker put the baby in her arms. The woman started to cry and her husband hugged her. Then the caseworker saw me looking into the room, so I ran.”

  That was the end, Annie thought. That was the last time they saw her. Her sister had been taken home by strangers while her parents had to go home without her.

  She felt her aunt put her arm around her. “I know this all sounds terrible,” she said. “But it was really for the best. Your parents went on to finish school and start their lives together. Then, when they were ready, they had you and Meg.”

  “But didn’t they ever wonder?” asked Annie. “Didn’t they want to know what happened to her?”

  “Sure,” her aunt replied. “Who wouldn’t? But they knew that her life was meant to go in a different direction from theirs. They’d done what they could for her—they’d given her life.”

  Once more Annie found herself thinking about fate. Was it really true that this was how things had been meant to be? Had it already been decided that her mother would have a baby and give it up? True, her mother had chosen to have the baby instead of not having it, but was there some larger plan at work that she was just a small part of? And if that was true, was Annie—or Meg, or Aunt Sarah, or all of them—just part of some big game being played out all across the world?

  “What are you guys doing?”

  Annie looked up and saw Meg coming into the kitchen. She’d been up in her room, reading. Now she approached the photo album with curiosity.

  Annie shut the book quickly and put it in her lap. “It’s a project I’m doing for school,” Annie said, trying to think of a story to tell her younger sister.

  “Can I see it?” asked Meg.

  “Not yet,” said Annie. “It’s not done.”

  Meg regarded her sister with suspicion. Annie knew that she didn’t buy the story, and she half expected Meg to put up a fight. She could be really stubborn when she wanted to be, particularly when she thought something was being kept from her. She and Meg looked at one another, each se
emingly waiting for the other to blink.

  Finally, Meg took a brownie from the plate and bit into it. “Okay,” she said, and Annie breathed a sigh of relief. She looked at her aunt. “I’m going to take this upstairs and work on it.”

  Her aunt looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. “Good idea,” she said. “Why don’t you take this stuff with you?” she added, indicating the cardboard box.

  Annie put the album into the box and carried the whole thing up the stairs to her room. She set it on her bed and took out the album again. Then she looked at the other things in the box. Mostly they were just more photographs, this time of her aunt and people that Annie didn’t know. She sifted through them, enjoying seeing what Aunt Sarah had looked like when she was younger.

  Then, underneath the photos, she found something else. It looked like a book, but there was no title on it. Annie picked it up and opened it. Inside she saw that the pages were covered in handwriting. It was a journal. It must be Aunt Sarah’s, she thought, from when she was in college.

  She opened the book to the first page. It was dated September 17, 1977.

  It’s definite—I’m pregnant. I guess I knew I was, but now I know for sure. I still can’t really believe it. Me, a mother. I can’t even keep the plant in our dorm room alive. How am I supposed to have a baby?

  Annie looked at the page in astonishment. It wasn’t her aunt’s diary, it was her mother’s. The handwriting on the pages was hers. Annie reached out and ran her fingers over it, feeling the ink beneath her fingertips. Her mother had written these words on the day she found out she was pregnant. For a moment Annie thought she should shut the diary and put it back. After all, these were her mother’s personal thoughts. They were private.

  But maybe this is here for a reason, Annie thought. Maybe I’m supposed to see this. She continued to read.

  I don’t know what Peter is going to think. I know he loves me, and I know I love him. But I don’t think either of us is ready for a baby. There are so many things we want to do, and we can’t take care of a baby right now. I know I don’t have to have it, but something tells me that I should. I think this baby has something it needs to do here, and I think it needs me to help it on its way. Maybe that’s stupid. But I can’t stop thinking about that astrologer Sarah and I went to, the one who told me that I was going to face a great challenge this year, and that if I ran away from it I would lose something valuable, but that if I accepted it it would bring great things into my life later on. This is definitely a challenge. I can’t imagine a bigger one. Still, I don’t know if this is the right decision. I’m going to think about it for a few days.

  Annie finished the first entry and stopped reading. Her mother had gone to an astrologer. There it is again, she thought. Why was astrology coming up again and again in her life? She knew from her past experiences that when something kept jumping into her path it usually meant that she was supposed to pay attention to it. Having her chart done had led her to the diary. Maybe there was a reason for that.

  She flipped the pages, looking at other entries. Reading it was like reading a story she already knew the beginning and ending to but didn’t know the middle of. Each new entry gave her more insight into what her mother had been going through during her pregnancy.

  December 7, 1977

  Mom called today and asked if I was coming home for Christmas. I said I would, even though I’m really scared. What if someone notices that I’ve put on weight? I can hide it under sweaters, but it feels so awful having to keep this from them. But I know they just wouldn’t understand. Dad would be so disappointed, and Mom would want me to keep the baby. I wish they could be like Peter’s family. They’ve been so good to me. I know Mom and Dad love me, too, but it’s just not the same. I always feel like I’m doing the wrong thing when it comes to them. When I have children, I want to be sure they know that—whatever they do—I’m proud of them.

  Annie skipped ahead, wanting to read what her mother had written during the final days of her pregnancy. She found an entry dated May 3, 1978.

  I know it’s going to be any day now. I called the caseworker at the adoption center this afternoon and told her to alert the adoptive parents. When I hung up I cried for about an hour. I know I’m doing the right thing—that we are doing the right thing—but it still hurts. I keep telling myself that when the time is right I’ll have more babies, ones I’m ready to care for. Someday I’ll hold a daughter or son in my arms and sing to her or him. I know I will, just like I know that this baby will be going to a family that loves it just as much as I do. I wonder if this baby will ever meet me and Peter, or our children. I don’t see how, but you never know. If that happens, I hope he or she knows that I did this because I loved him or her. I hope so more than anything.

  That was the last entry in the journal. Annie didn’t know what day her mother had given birth on, but she figured it must have been shortly after that. Then she must have put the journal away, or maybe even forgotten about it. But somehow it had found its way to Annie, and she was happy that it had.

  The last entry stayed in her mind. What if she could meet the baby her mother had given up? What would she say? Would she give her the journal so that she could know what their mother had been thinking while she was pregnant?

  It’s not like I’ll ever get the chance, she told herself. She wouldn’t even know where to start looking for the woman. But at least she had the journal and the pictures. They helped her piece together part of the story, and maybe that was enough.

  She began to put the journal back into the box. She would read it later. But as she did, something slipped out and fell to the bed. Annie picked it up. It was a piece of paper, yellowed with age. Annie unfolded it.

  It was a letter. Annie scanned it. It was from the adoption agency her parents had gone through, and it was a form letter stating that they were giving up their rights to their baby. Her parents’ signatures were at the bottom. And at the top was the name, address, and phone number of the adoption agency. Annie stared at it for a moment as a thought came to her.

  I wonder, she thought suddenly. She looked at the agency information again. It had been a long time ago. And probably they wouldn’t tell you anything anyway, she argued with herself. But the more she thought about it, the more the idea took hold of her. Finally she sighed. “It’s worth a shot,” she said, making up her mind.

  CHAPTER 15

  “I haven’t been here in a long time,” Kate said, looking around the coffee shop. “It looks pretty much the same.”

  “I think it’s looked like this for the past thirty years,” Tyler commented. He was folding a napkin in half and then in half again.

  “Are you trying to do origami or something?” asked Kate.

  “Excuse me?” said Tyler.

  “Your napkin,” Kate said, nodding at the now-mangled piece of paper.

  “Oh,” said Tyler. “No, I was just trying to . . . I mean, the best I could do would be a paper airplane, and I don’t think it would get that far. I spilled some water on this.”

  Tyler was clearly nervous. But not as nervous as I am, Kate thought to herself. She still couldn’t quite believe that she had agreed to meet him at the restaurant. She’d been so shocked to hear his voice when he called that afternoon that she’d agreed to see him before she realized what she was doing. Now she was sitting across from him in a booth, trying to think of something to talk about.

  “Thanks again for the picture,” she said finally.

  Tyler nodded. He’d barely said five sentences since she’d arrived, and she wondered what he was thinking. After all, she thought, he was the one who asked me to meet him. It seemed to her that it was up to him to keep the conversation going.

  “So, how are the girls?” he asked finally.

  “Good,” said Kate, relieved to have something to break the silence. “Well, maybe not so great. Cooper is having a tough time. Her mother is kind of losing it a little because of the divorce.”

  “S
ounds rough,” replied Tyler, although he hadn’t really seemed to hear what Kate was saying.

  “And Annie’s aunt is getting married,” Kate continued. “That’s pretty cool.”

  Tyler nodded, and once again Kate got the distinct impression that he wasn’t paying any attention to her. She decided to find out.

  “Oh, and Sasha discovered the fossilized egg of the world’s oldest dinosaur in her backyard,” she said brightly. “The Smithsonian is going to pay her six million dollars for it and name a new building after her.”

  “Cool,” responded Tyler.

  “All right,” Kate said. “That’s it.”

  That seemed to get Tyler’s attention. His head snapped up and he looked at Kate with a puzzled expression. “What’d I do?” he asked.

  “You asked me to meet you here and now you’re acting like you want to be anyplace but here and with anyone but me,” Kate snapped. “So either start talking or I’m out of here.”

  Tyler held up his hands. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry. Maybe this was a mistake.”

  “I’d tell you,” Kate said, “but I don’t even know what this is. Maybe you can enlighten me.”

  Tyler sighed. “I thought we could try talking,” he said. “But maybe I was wrong.”

  “Talking only works if both of us talk,” said Kate.

  “I know,” said Tyler. “This is just harder than I thought it would be.”

  Kate was angry, but she backed off. She saw that Tyler really was having a difficult time being around her, and she knew that giving him a hard time wasn’t going to help matters. Then again, she thought, it’s not like you really want to talk to him.